NoUgHtS & Cr0ss3s
by Lil' Monk
Summary: Can a natural accident of force threaten a partnership with no porosities? Sasori wants to think so. Itachi isn't even going there. But when circumstances and dynamics between dangerous S-class-nins stop being negligible, it's time to-


**Disclaimers**: Masashi Kishimoto owns the Naruto series. I make no money off this, merely for self-entertainment.

**A/N:** Possible implications abound, where 4 characters are concerned. I have left their past and relationships vague, so it can be seen in any context. Is this a one-shot spin-off from "Quagmire"? Can also stand alone by itself. Sasori and Itachi are alpha-males that are dangerous and domineering at baseline; it would be interesting to have one instance in which they handle mutual disagreement in their own subtle ways, and their perceptions of each other in that situation. The chemistry… I have not found any plausible fanfiction that properly frames any type of interaction between these 2. I wrote this in 2005 and thanks to caninedreamer on LJ, have been able to modify it appropriately.

**Setting**: During the timeline jump, in the Akatsuki homebase. Because of a certain issue, one Akatsuki member goes looking for another. Verbal sparring, innuendo, hints of a certain shared past, and more.

**N**o**U**g**H**t**S & **C**r**0**ss**3**s  
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>Avoiding numerous little traps wasn't a problem. Not being greeted by any form of poison was suspicious. Stopping at the edge of the stone platform while surrounded by stalagmites protruding from the floor, the visitor merely waited and watched a kneeling figure whose back was to him, concentration obviously centered on modifying part of a detached prosthesis.<p>

The only sounds came from painful creaking of force being exerted on metallic limbs, squeak of wires being maneuvered into their designated insertions and a sudden bang as one bent steel rod was flung over one shoulder, spinning through the air and reaching a darkened corner to crash into ignored hubris.

One hand allowing caramel smoothness to trickle away, flesh-coloured fingers tossed a single leaf into the air. It rose, eventually came to a stop and began to lose to gravity. Haphazardly drifting down, swaying slightly from one side to another- Its descent was interrupted by a stream of chakra-controlled beige grains tearing into wilted green. One couldn't tell the difference between the two, by the time everything touched the ground.

"Sand is wonderfully flexible; isn't it?"

Melding the last bolt and screw together, tapping his armour at that tail joint and satisfied with the finish, the speaker picked up a damp rag and wiped off remaining patches of murky oil.

"Have you finally come to admire my art..."

A black cloak with red clouds was adjusted to prevent unnecessary creasing.

"Or would you prefer something more short-lived and explosive?"

That last word was punctuated with a rustle of cloth, as the puppeteer finally stood up. He was answered in a rather cryptic manner by his visitor.

"I don't admire childish games. Especially not retaliations fueled by pettiness."

Now they both faced each other; one relaxed on a bed of sandy rock, the other still not moving on the natural platform. Between the two ex-partners was an oceanic iceberg of civility, concealing underlying tension that normally happened when two possessively dominant personalities confronted a conflict of interest: Potentially more than mere mind games that threatened to undermine a partnership.

A face that had not aged for over two decades assumed something resembling an expression... if slow widening of eyes counted. Stepping forward and easily avoiding being speared by stalactites hanging from the ceiling, soft-spoken courtesy answered the accuser.

"You still confuse in riddles."

"Liar."

"Takes one to know one."

Studying fingers that no longer needed to worry about chipped nail polish, Sasori's counter-attack was boredom, laced with the lightest of sarcasm.

"You know tolerance is not a virtue of mine. Kindly make your intentions clear. Otherwise-"

His tone could freeze the incoming tide.

"Get out of my laboratory."

At last. There was the opening.

"Indeed. When you leave Kisame alone."

Head lowered and tilted to one side (dark-fringed, half-lidded eyes coyly peering up at the Uchiha), thin fingers let go of the slim extension of rock they'd been curled around. Reaching up for a thicker and longer length, one hand wrapped around dusty stiffness and began casually stroking, occasionally rubbing his thumb over the tip. Unblinking focus did not leave the younger man. Challenging, taunting, possibly-

"Boys aren't interesting, Itachi. **Men **are."

Breath slowing, an odd sensation slithered up the listener's spine. For some reason, the familiarly lazy huskiness with which the other drawled his words, coupled with a disturbingly sensual gesture and such fixed intensity... staring into clear-eyed boldness was like being sucked into- So similar to the only time Deidara had fought and then rested by his side when all four of them were on the same mission, leading to a temporary dulling of animosity and something else uncomfortably vague, which in turn elicited a successfully suppressed reaction he didn't trust. However, the difference between Then versus Now? It was a reaction he couldn't trust. Experience had taught him that.

Itachi didn't like being toyed with, indirectly or not.

"Find someone else to bait and manipulate, Sasori."

This was better than the puppet master had expected. Establishing any tangible connections with Kisame and influencing him would unnerve Itachi, as anticipated. The Sharingan wielder would never believe that any of Sasori's attention and friendship with the Mist-nin was sincere. Mostly. The Uchiha was also much less likely to believe that wanting to know Kisame better had not been born out of malicious desire. Such added inspiration had only happened later, when a certain mission was over and one realised a hypocritical bastard had somehow made his explosive partner behave oddly, while possibly influencing that one's view of art. And to make things worse, Sasori couldn't fathom how, despite having worked with Itachi before that one joined Akatsuki. A loud-mouthed partner that tempted one to kill him too often… was almost unbearable when silently uncomfortable and evasive about a certain Uchiha in any moment, which in turn was much worse than verbally snarled brickbats. The Sand-nin didn't care if Itachi didn't understand.

Deidara was his. And Sasori would never allow any worthwhile art to be stolen away in any manner. This bitter reminiscence only brought up deeper issues.

Did this Uchiha know how much he had tempted Sasori's former partner? Orochimaru had been drawn to prodigious power, but even more seduced by the prospect of possessing the dangerous boy who would grow up to be so... With eyes and wits that were alluring yet deadly, regal detachment that gave away hints of tantalizing strength lying beneath layers of cloth... Kisame's partner had traits Sasori could never, or no longer own. Knowing it, desiring them and possibly their owner was something that only added to the hatred. Hatred that was not helped by understanding only too well, the threat that this young man posed to a partnership with no porosities-

Covering his face with his free hand, shoulders shaking, lightly voiced amusement darkened into the mirth of rusty bells tolling... and finally reached the intruder. Laughter trailing off, Sasori began to walk towards his target. It seemed as if a collision was inevitable, until he shifted at the last moment to pass by. Shoulders brushing, he stopped. Looking at an enigmatic side profile, he waited until it finally turned to fully meet his gaze.

For Itachi, being this close to the preservation of youthful features was an even better warning. Carefully perfected flawlessness was unnatural. Long-lashed redness seemingly contained a simmering blaze that threatened to devour if unleashed. Chaste hint of pink in parted lips, as the other gracefully leant closer- The inexplicably insane urge to lean forward made it almost impossible to ignore instinct that screamed at him to pull back. Gentleness of polite wording was in stark contrast to ice-water-menace from its meaning.

"Oh? As long as leaves do not infringe on unrelated territory... of Stone and Sand."

Then the first man was quietly stepping away, ascending stairs with inhuman swiftness to leave the other alone in semi-darkness.

Itachi had gotten his answer, but it came with a warning that irritated him. And the last few minutes had been an unbelievable yet somewhat familiar ordeal of sorts, leaving one annoyed, uneasy and frustrated. He didn't want to analyse any of it; he needed to get out of this antagonist's playground.

Leaving the underground laboratory, striding through empty corridors and headed for an exit of the base... it happened.

Deidara.


End file.
